Wanna U M Q R A?
by daleksanddetectives
Summary: On their last night at Baskerville, Sherlock drags John back out into the woods.


Fic for pic by mhimsa on tumblr

post/48656304220

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"What now?" John asks as Sherlock turns the engine of the 4x4 off.

"Now," he says, with a click of his tongue, "we wait."

The car engine clicks quietly, gradually cooling down as John's brain computes this.

"So we're going to stay here in a four by four, half in the bloody forest, for something you haven't you even told me about?"

"Exactly, John," Sherlock smirks, pulling out his phone.

John sighs, it was their last night at Dartmoor and he had been hoping to get a warm pub meal for dinner and maybe throw back a pint or three before having to endure the long train journey the next morning. Unfortunately, Sherlock had had other ideas, dragging John to their rented car and driving for what seemed like hours on the bumpy country roads.

Now, they sit in the car in silence.

John lasts ten minutes before declaring, "I'm going to sit in the back, more leg room."

He picks up the packet of crisps from the dashboard he'd bought at the train station when they're arrived and opens the door, swiftly closing it and hopping into the back seats. He stretches himself out, groaning at the comfort of the leather seats, _a quick nap wouldn't hurt_, he thinks, settling down.

John is just drifting off into sleep when he hears the car door open. His eyes fly open and he sits up, thinking Sherlock had spotted whatever was relevant to their case. Instead, Sherlock climbs into the back seat with John and sits, slouched half way down the seat.

John stares, still not used to seeing Sherlock act like this outside their home.

"What?" Sherlock interrupts John's thoughts, "I thought you wanted to nap."

"Yes," John says slowly.

"Then sleep," he smiles, tapping at his phone, "we'll probably be here a while."

John pauses, "alright?"

He settles himself against the seat in a similar position to Sherlock. They may have been officially 'together' for a few months, but John knew Sherlock was still somewhat uncomfortable when he did something as affectionate as resting his head on Sherlock's lap to sleep, he preferred when Sherlock felt comfortable enough to initiate any sort of cuddling. Instead he settles for leaning gently against Sherlock's shoulder and closing his eyes.

As John falls back into sleep he thinks he feels Sherlock rest his cheek against John's hair, but it was probably just his imagination.

When John opens his eyes, the first thing he notices is the natural light is almost gone. He mumbles sleepily and rearranges himself, snuggling into the warm thing against his—_oh_.

He'd fallen asleep leaning against Sherlock, hadn't he?

John leans over, trying to see the time on Sherlock's phone screen. Instead, Sherlock clicks his phone lock, "it's early evening," he says, turning his head slightly towards John, "sleep well?"

"Reasonably," John grumbles, rubbing at his eye, "might have slept better if I hadn't leant against your bony shoulder," he teases, finally starting to wake up properly.

Sherlock smirks, "then you should have balled up my scarf like you did last time you decided my shoulder was a good place to sleep."

"Any leads on this mystery case then?"

"None at all."

John smiles at him fondly, mumbles, "come here," and cranes his neck to press a gentle kiss against Sherlock's lips.

When he pulls away he sees Sherlock looking particularly smug.

John frowns and looks away, "where did those crisps go? I'm starving."

He leans forward to begin the search for a snack, but is pulled back when Sherlock wraps an arm around his waist. He doesn't fight him; he waits until Sherlock has pulled him against his chest and tucked his nose into the crook of John's neck, inhaling deeply. He humours him for a moment before chuckling, "what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Sherlock rumbles, leaving feather-light kisses along John's jaw.

_He's mirroring what I do when he's ill or stressed,_ John smiles. He turns, not leaving Sherlock's arms, and perches on the edge of the seat, "are you trying to seduce me, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock smirks darkly and leans forward again to press a harder kiss to John's lips. John melts into it and allows Sherlock to guide him into lying down. Crawling up John's chest, Sherlock settles on top of him, a comfortable weight. Sherlock mostly concentrates on kissing John's lips, but occasionally darts off to press one on the tip of his nose, on his cheekbones or his neck.

John snakes his arms under Sherlock's coat to feel the warmth of his back through his shirt. He feels safe and comfortable wrapped up in Sherlock's arms and coat, rubbing circles at the small of his back. John's hands travel south to untuck the shirt and spread his hands across bare skin, allowing himself to feel every bump of Sherlock's spine. Sherlock shivers slightly as the cold contact and refocuses on John's lips.

Sherlock moves to align their hips and presses down, producing a startled noise from John.

John pushes up to meet Sherlock's thrusts, each time eliciting breathy gasps from both mouths.

"Less clothes, _please_!" John says, hooking a leg around Sherlock's hip, realising that Sherlock is 100% up for whatever this would lead to.

"It's fewer," Sherlock rumbles.

"And I couldn't give a damn, just get this," he clumsily begins undoing the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, "_off_."

"Your wish," Sherlock laughs, shrugging his arms out of his coat and shirt. He pushes his hands under John's jumper and shirt, tugging them off in one fluid motion and throwing them onto the passenger seat. He dips to press kisses on John's chest as his hands move towards his belt, quickly pulling it open and helping John to shimmy out of his trousers, revealing his comically red pants.

"My favourite pair," Sherlock smirks.

John groans, "you still have too many clothes on." He reaches for the button of Sherlock's trousers and tries to pull them down.

Sherlock helps by sitting up and kicking them off onto the floor. He returns to his place on John's chest and rubs a hand across the front of John's pants, smirking as John, in return, runs his hands down Sherlock's ribs, hips and finally down to his backside.

"My third favourite part of you," John smirks, giving it a squeeze.

Sherlock frowns, "what are the other two?"

"Your huge brain and your gorgeous lips, I could kiss your lips all day," John proves his point by pushing his tongue between Sherlock's lips and kissing him deeply.

Sherlock doesn't let John lead for long, dropping his hips back down to meet John's, two thin layers of cotton separating them.

"Wait," John pauses, realising where this was going. He pulls away a few centimetres, "our first time is going to be in the back of a four by four?"

Sherlock takes John's earlobe between his teeth, mumbling, "problem?"

"We can't," John hisses.

He lets go of the ear, "where's your sense of danger, Doctor Watson?"

John frowns, "pull the other one, Holmes."

"It's dark and as you said earlier, we're in the middle of nowhere. We won't get caught."

John considers this for a moment, "fine. But here? What if we get caught—"

"Be thankful I've held off this long. I've almost jumped you in a taxi once or twice, as I know you've also thought of doing." Sherlock smirks.

John ignores him, "okay, but if we do get caught—"

Sherlock begins to move his lips against John's throat, "which we won't."

"-I'll steal your skull."

Sherlock laughs breathily against John's skin. It's a half-hearted threat, but John's mind is starting to get a bit too foggy to think of a decent one. His neck and spine arch up to meet Sherlock, and desperate noises quietly escape this throat as Sherlock runs his tongue from his collar to hairline.

"Turn over," Sherlock growls next to John's ear.

John freezes.

Now, John isn't unfamiliar with the male body. He'd experimented in his youth, and decided he was pretty much straight. Once somewhat older there had been the occasional drunk handjob in a club toilet and one eventful evening back at his flat. He had believed himself to be at least 90% straight until he met Sherlock. Somehow, Sherlock seemed to be the changing factor in most aspects of John's life.

Sherlock sobers and props himself up, "John? Are you alright?"

John remains quiet, gripping at Sherlock's ribs.

"You have had sexual relations with men in the past, correct?"

He nods, "but never like this."

Sherlock smiles and drops a quick peck to John's lips, "we don't have to, John. If you're not comfortable."

"No, I want this. Do you have, um…?" John trails off, hoping Sherlock would pick up on his concern.

Sherlock's face softens, "of course, they're in the glove box. I was ready for any eventuality."

"What?" John giggles, starting to relax again, "in case the post case adrenaline became too much and our usual groping in the back of Greg's car went further?"

Sherlock chuckles.

"He'd kill us," John laughs, "well, first he'd make us clean his car, then he'd kill us and hide the bodies."

Sherlock's eyes bore into John's and smiles genuinely, "I love you John, but if you want to wait until a better time, we can continue like this for now?"

John's chest tightens at Sherlock's words, "not the best location," Sherlock rolls his eyes, "but yes. I'd prefer to keep going."

Sherlock leaps up and leans over the front seats to open the glove compartment to retrieve a small bottle of lubricant and a condom.

John takes this time to admire Sherlock's backside and legs.

_His legs go on for miles_, he thinks, grinning, _and his arse is just so _plump.

As Sherlock begins leaning back, John takes the opportunity to strip Sherlock of his underwear. He pulls them down slowly, pressing his nose against Sherlock's hip. John smirks and mumbles, "third favourite part," when Sherlock looks down curiously.

John shivers slightly, suddenly aware of their lack of clothes. Sherlock notices straight away, ignoring his own nudity, he drags his Belstaff coat over the top of them. He lies back on John's chest, dropping the condom and lube on the seat beside them. They tease each other with gentle kisses, slowly warming up again.

Sherlock's fingers start tugging lightly at the band of John's pants. John lifts his hips and wiggles to help Sherlock shimmy them down his thighs. Awkwardly, they get them off and Sherlock shoves them in his coat pocket, thinking that John would most likely want to put them straight back on later, his not being a fan of prolonged nudity.

Sherlock kisses John's cheek softly, "turn over?"

Sherlock moves to make room for John to shuffle onto his stomach.

"On your knees," Sherlock says gently, rubbing a hand on John's waist, "it'll be more comfortable."

John nods and shuffles again. Sherlock spends some time preparing him, wanting to make sure he wouldn't hurt his John, and when he finally sinks into John's body, both men groan in unison.

"Incredible," Sherlock gasps, his forehead resting in between John's shoulder blades.

"Isn't that my line?" John says breathily.

He smiles and trails small kisses along John's spine, "alright?"

A quiet _mm_, noise escapes John's lips as he nods, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock says worriedly, "I can stop?"

"No, it's fine," he gasps, "just give me a minute. I'm okay."

Sherlock wraps his arms around John's chest, entwining his fingers with John's right hand. He begins to move his hips, creating a gentle rhythm.

"Not gonna last long," John gasps, pushing his hips back to meet Sherlock's careful thrusts.

"Me neither," Sherlock grunts in reply, "but you first."

John nods and bites his lip as Sherlock snakes his hand in between the seat and John stomach and stroking him in time with their hips. Soon John sees stars as he spills over Sherlock's hand, burying his face in his folded arms.

Sherlock groans and a few moments later follows John, wrapping his arms around John's torso and pressing his lips against John's shoulder.

John falls onto his stomach, breathing heavily, as Sherlock sits up to dispose of the condom. John rolls to the side, tangling his own legs with Sherlock's and pressing his back against the seat. He opens his arms and motions for Sherlock to lie down. He does, and snuggles closely into John's chest after pulling his coat back up and over the both of them for extra warmth.

"There was no case was there?" John realises, "you dragged me out here specifically for this didn't you."

Sherlock stays guiltily silent.

"You could have just asked, you know. We have a private room at the pub." John moves his hand in soothing circles on Sherlock's lower back.

"John, I should probably tell you-"

"You got us kicked out didn't you." John states.

Sherlock doesn't beat around the bush, "yes. Apparently the cleaning service didn't appreciate finding your gun under the bed or my Bluebell experiment on the desk."

To Sherlock's surprise, John starts laughing, "you could have just told me out right rather than dragging me out here for sex hoping it would soften the blow."

"To be fair you didn't exactly argue about it," Sherlock huffs.

John smiles and drops a few kisses around Sherlock's face.

They stay in this position for several minutes, breathing each other in and exchanging lazy kisses, when John giggles against Sherlock's lips.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing," he laughs and drops a kiss onto Sherlock's nose, "I just remembered something."

Sherlock frowns, "what?"

"UMQRA."


End file.
